Daily Archives: 17/09/2013

Mrs. Smith was cleaning the bathroom and suddenly, oh shock, she noticed a corner that had been forgotten, neglected. A layer of dust, no – a crust had already began to form in the corner. Mrs. Smith took a cloth, and with strength and full elbow grease wiped and wiped until it was the same brilliant shiny white matching the surroundings. Mrs. Smith was now satisfied with her work.

Mrs. Smith heard the postman. Mrs. Smith picked up the letters and again there was a colourful page showing undernourished children in another part of the world. Mrs. Smith shook her head, not at the pictures of the children, but the thought crossed her mind “I am sure there is a begging letter with this” and she was reassured. Yes, there was a begging letter asking for money to help the children, not even for food, but for clean water that could be supplied from a well if they had the money to build a well. They needed food, but what is food without water. Mrs. Smith took the post and threw it in the garbage can.

Then something else caught Mrs. Smith’s eye. The local supermarket had special offers. A special 20% rebate off beef prices. There was also an opportunity to buy 2 bars of her favourite chocolate for the price of one. Mrs. Smith immediately decided this would be worthwhile. Mrs. Smith prepared for her shopping trip.

Mrs. Smith arrived at the supermarket and entered. A group of school children were standing at the entrance collecting money for hunger in the third world. Mrs. Smith ignored the children and carried on with her shopping, buying six bars of her favourite chocolate, after all it was a special offer. Mrs. Smith also bought her favourite magazine.

Mrs. Smith arrived home and she had five minutes to spare before cooking her lunch of steak and fresh vegetable, after all beef was a special offer. Mrs. Smith read her magazine. She was shocked at the report about the war in a country far away where poison gas had been used, where children were dying. Mrs. Smith also read about children working all day, manufacturing clothing for her own country, for hunger wages so that Mrs. Smith could buy the garments at cheap prices. Mrs. Smith turned the page and enjoyed reading about her favourite actress who had married, throwing a banquet for all invited guests, all wearing their wonderful designer dresses and each showing their jewellery.

When Mrs. Smith went to bed that night, she fell asleep immediately in her comfortable warm bed and had already forgotten the neglected part of the world where the people slept on the earth with just perhaps their scanty clothing for protection. By the way, do you know Mrs. Smith?

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Write a story about yourself from the perspective of an object, thing, animal, or another person.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us PERSPECTIVE.

I suppose it is all a matter of how you look at it. In my original form, as a human, I just found it a normal garden, nothing special, a place where seeds find a way to grow and a place where, as a human, I pull them out again. Now I see it all with other eyes, thanks to my felines. They decided it is now a cat’s life for me and I just have to get on with it. Thanks cats, I think I would have preferred to remain a human.

I woke up this morning and felt an irritating itch behind my ear, so I raised my back leg, the right one as the itch was on the right ear, and gave it a scratch, feeling my claws finding a path to an unknown object to expel from my fur. Huh! Just a minute, what am I thinking?

“No problem Mrs. Human, or shall I say welcome to the fold.” The voice in my head originated from Tabby, one of my felines.

“Uh, Tabby, something is wrong here.”

“Of course it isn’t Mrs. Feline, you are now one of us. Nera and I with a positive meow from our apprentice Fluffy, decided it was time for our Human to discover what it is like to exist as a feline at the mercy of a human. We had a word with Bast, our big boss somewhere in an Egyptian corn chamber, and he waved his paw and now you are a feline. How does it feel Mrs. Feline?”

I looked at Tabby, but she was a blurred picture in front of my nose, so I took a few steps back for a clearer picture.

“You see Mrs. Feline, that is a feline problem, we are short sighted. Think about it the next time you place something in front of our noses, give us time to focus.”

“What’s that?” I suddenly heard a rustle in the grass and noticed a long tail disappearing between the grass stalks. Before Nera or Tabby could answer I was off as fast as all four legs could carry me. I could feel the call of the hunt. Scents filled my nose, appetising scents, and I saw the tail disappear into a hole in the earth. I was fast and had my paw behind this moving food ration in the hole.

“Aww” and I pulled my throbbing paw out of the hole.

“One of the first rules of a mouse hunt, Mrs. Feline, do not put your paw in a mouse hole, especially if the mouse is being pursued and escapes They bite the paw that follows. Mouse rule No. 1.”

“So how do you catch them Nera?” thinking ask a silly question and probably I receive a silly answer.

“You wait, not just a few minutes like the human impatient way of doing things, but sometimes it can be a matter of human hours until the mouse appears. Then you pounce and trap the mouse between the front paws. After a while he is dead and then the fun begins. Nothing like the tins of tuna fish, or vitamin pellets, but real flesh and blood. Forget your vegetarian ideas Mrs. Feline, you are now a real feline and you eat something that used to walk and breath.”

Perhaps I still had a remainder of human brain cells, but this feline logic did not really appeal to me. I was still learning it seems.

“Nera, I feel tired, is there somewhere I can sleep?”

“Now that is a question of priorities” answered Nera.

“How does that work?” I asked innocently, not expecting a positive answer: this time Fluffy came to my assistance.

“I think I will have to advise you here Mrs. Human Feline. I am the junior member of the feline family, so the third most comfortable place for sleep is for me. Now you have joined the fold, you will have to make do with the fourth place on the feline sleeping ladder.”

“Which means?”

“You see that pile of earth over there in the corner?”

“You mean the one next to the plant where you mark your territory?”

“Exactly”

“No way”

“Mrs. Feline” spoke Nera the feline in charge “you have no choice. Either you sleep where we tell you to or….”

“Or what?”

“You feel the shapness of my claws and I give you a nice loud hiss so that you can breathe in my sweet breath when I do it.”

I curled up, closed my eyes and tried to ignore the smell of the marks from my felines as I slept on the pile of earth next to the marked territory. I realised you do not argue with a chief feline, or her pack.

And so the day continued. By evening I was allowed to eat a portion of vitamin pellets, when the other felines were finished of course. At night I was taken on a tour of the territory and when morning arrived I was even qualified to fight over the remainders of the mouse we caught. Nera told me it was an old mouse anyway and she let me have it as a compensation for my first day as a feline. Tabby told me Nera only likes tender mouse flesh and could no longer get her teeth into the older mice.

So that was my first day as a feline and I am glad to say my last, up to now, although you never know what goes on between that Bast guy and my felines. I noticed that when Nera gives a long look at the tuna fish can, it means an extra portion otherwise a feline voice in my human brain asks me how I would like to spend another day as a feline, but this time with a feline fight for territorial rights included with Rusty, the ginger tom that lives next door. It seems he is the King Feline that claws a notch in his feline entrance every time he wins and believe me he has a lot of notches on his cat flap.

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Women’s March 2017

Originally a cockney from the East End of London. Arrived in Switzerland 46 years ago and due to meeting Mr. Swiss, I am still here. Mother of two sons, have been adopted by 3 cats. Worked 30 years as an export clerk for a Swiss machine tool company and am now retired. Like to go for walks with my camera and write blogs, flash fiction, poems to make life interesting. Speak fluent German/Swiss German, French, Italian and some Russian. Mother tongue: still cockney english.

Freshly Pressed

51 Shades of Blog

Being honest the title is based on a remark made on one of my blogs by a supporter.
"You always turn a topic inside out and on its head" were words also applied by a visitor to one of my blogs. I think she hit the nail on the head.

Prompts are there to act on, not just tell everyone what you had for lunch or your likes and dislikes. I trust that on my blog you find something spiced with humour. Mr. Swiss, my other half, has been known to say that not everyone always understands my humour (I do not always understand his).

Blogging is for me coupled with having fun. I do what I want to and not what I have to.

Disclaimer: Not reponsible for any spelling or grammatical mistakes. I do my best, but having two langugages revolving in my brain (yes, I have one), sometimes the result is more bi- than unilingual.

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